Temporary
by illocust
Summary: Damian loses his sight. It's supposed to be temporary. That's not as comforting as some would believe.
1. Chapter 1

_**Just wanted to write Damian having a bad day.**_

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"It should be temporary." The doctor said cheerfully, as if what she was telling him could possibly be considered good news, "Your vision should start returning in a week," Emphasis on start, as in he would still be completely blind, but maybe he might be able to differentiate between night and day, "and you should regain total use of your eyes by the end of the month." She might as well have said forever.

He stopped listening. He couldn't patrol if he couldn't see, he couldn't train without supervision, he couldn't wander the grounds with Titus, he couldn't play Cheese Vikings, or even work on his art. He would be utterly useless and helpless until his sight returned. Would Robin even wait that long, or would Father find some new stray to watch his back on patrol. Maybe he'd just call in one of his old ones. Drake had been Father's preferred partner after all. Would whoever took over his place as a vigilante also take over his place at home? That's how it had always worked in the past. Whoever worked with Batman lived with Father in the manor.

A squeeze to his shoulder had him looking up automatically. Seeing nothing when he did, felt like a hollow in his gut. He didn't know why he had looked. He knew he couldn't see, and it wasn't like he didn't know who the hand belonged to. Grayson's arm had been wrapped around him for the whole appointment. Only moving so far as to switch to holding his hand, when the doctor needed space to exam him. Still he just, he knew Grayson's face. He knew how the man would smile at him all warmth and comfort. He could picture it near perfectly, but he couldn't see it. He just, he just, he just wanted. "Dami?" Grayson's voice was concerned. He could feel the tears bubbling up in his eyes trying to escape and betray him. Why could he feel the damn things if he couldn't use them? He tried to suck in a breath to stop the tears before they formed. He couldn't do this. He couldn't be useless, helpless, and weak. He wanted to rip them out. His eyes, his emotions, or both. He wanted to tear them out and throw them away where they couldn't make him into this ever again.

"Hey now, come here," Grayson said softly. Bundling him up into his mentor's lap and wrapping him in his arms. He was too big for this. He didn't think he'd known Grayson when he'd been small enough to fit in his lap. God what was wrong with him. He was too old for this, and it was in front of Father. He felt the first tear break free to slide down his face. Mother would have never been in this position nor Father, they both would have never let their emotions rule them so easily. It was only him that couldn't control them. He didn't think even Grayson cried. Certainly not this easily. He felt a few more tears follow the first, then a few more, and then they wouldn't stop.

"Shhhh, it's going to be okay," Grayson murmured. He felt Grayson's forehead press against his own and a hand cupping his head. He didn't want to be looked at, not when he was like this. He jerked away then tried to jerk forward, to hide his head in Grayson's shoulder. He ended up banging his head on the side of Grayson's and his nose on his older brother's collarbone instead. "Ouch!" Grayson yelped. He couldn't help it, as he buried his head into Grayson's neck he started sobbing. "Oh jeez, Dami it's fine. You just surprised me," Grayson said, rubbing his back, "Come on everything is going to be okay." He shook his head in response. It wasn't going to be okay. He was weak and useless, and Father and the doctor were both watching him and judging him. The door was probably open and everyone in the hall was watching him too. He'd heard it close at the beginning of the examination, but if he's so pathetic he can't even stop himself from crying, he's also probably too pathetic to hear someone opening it again.

"Could you give us a moment, please." Father said lowly, somewhere off in the darkness of the room.

"Of course, call if you want to continue, but you're free to go after, if you don't have any questions." Father gave some noise of confirmation, and Damian heard the click of the door as the doctor left. That meant now he only had Father and Grayson staring at his breakdown. It didn't make him feel any better.

He heard the creak and felt the slight sway of the bed as Father sat down beside Grayson and himself. A third hand rubbed his shoulder. He tried to burrow deeper, where no one could see his face. He couldn't stop the weakness but he could at least hide it. He didn't know how long they stayed like that. Wrapped up in Grayson's arms while Father lent some small assurances here and there. Eventually the tears slowed, and Damian felt himself relax slightly. His eyes closed against the blackness. He knew that he'd end up opening them soon and be reminded once more that there was nothing to see, but he couldn't deny himself the small comfort of hiding here and putting off facing the world for just a few more minutes.

That's why he said nothing when he felt Grayson's jaw start to move. It didn't take long to figure out what he was doing. Every member of the family could read lips, and with his current predicament it was the perfect way to hold a conversation that he wouldn't be able to overhear. He didn't want to know its contents. Shamefully afraid of what they where saying about him. He kept quiet, choosing ignorance over painful knowledge.

They apparently finished their discussion, because he felt a squeeze on his shoulder before Father spoke, "Damian?" Father said.

"Yes," He replied. Rubbing his face in attempt to erase any leftover proof of his tears, before turning to Father's voice.

"I was going to ask Alfred to buy some different types of Ice Creams for tonight. Would you like that?" Father said quietly. He nodded his head in affirmation. "Is there a specific type you want?" Father asked.

"No," He whispered.

He felt a pat on his back. "Alright, I'll ask him to pick up as many as he can find, and we can just try them all." Father said, a little louder this time.

Grayson shifted, and it took him until he put his arms under his legs to realize that Grayson was trying to carry him out. "I can walk." He said, as he quickly put up a struggle. He would not suffer the humiliation of being carried out of the Doctor's office like some sort of child. It was bad enough the doctor had seen him cry.

Grayson stopped and set him down. "You sure Little D? It's not a big deal." Grayson asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," He replied, then added "I'm not crippled!" Grabbing on tightly to Grayson's hand. Grayson wouldn't let him walk into walls or trip over anything. He knew he wouldn't.

"Alright then, lets get you to the car, then all the ice cream you can eat."

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 _ **End Notes:**_

 _ **Not really sure if there will be more of this. I have some ideas for what happens in the month between this story and him fully regaining his sight, but they aren't super detailed. Best to just assume this will be a one shot.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Here you go, this is how we got to the point in the first chapter._**

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Damian was going to strangle someone, if he had to listen to one more little old lady go on and on about how cute he was. Normally he didn't mind these functions. The upper crust of Gotham was one of the few places he was treated with the respect he was due outside of the League. The Gotham rich may not have been aware of the true nature of his great heritage, but they held the Wayne name in high enough regard that the effect was the same. That was under normal circumstances.

Today's benefit was for one of Gotham's retirement homes. Whoever was in charge had picked several residents deemed congenial enough to convince the wealthy to donate just a few extra dollars with their 'charm'. Of course, they couldn't focus their attention on the bleeding hearts who wanted to hear their sob stories. No, it seemed every single one of them had deemed it necessary to pull him into long detailed conversations about how he reminded them of their grandson who never visited or their son who'd died in some war or other. It was maddening.

Which is why, he was currently out in the garden looking for an area to hide. He'd already prepared arguments for at least half the members of the family on why telling him to return would make them a hypocrite, and he was currently coming up with a semi-persuasive one for Alfred. He might not need either. The garden was mostly abandoned, the weather was dreary and had been threatening rain all day. Most of the guests were hiding inside the hotel where it was warm, leaving Damian to wander the expertly maintained paths alone.

Well almost alone, as Damian rounded a rose bush he came upon a small gaggle of decidedly off individuals gathered around a topiary. Their clothing almost fit in with the kind worn by the guests inside. New, well tailored, and in style, the only thing that he could immediately point out as wrong was that every single one of them was still wrapped in their coats, hats, and scarves. Even then most would have just assumed the party was late to the benefit. Not yet having dropped their outdoor wear off in the coat check.

Damian was not just anybody, though. He was heir to the greatest detective known to man, and was quite a good one in his own right. Carefully, making sure to not slow his pace or give any outward signs of having noticed something was wrong, Damian continued his way down the path. Assuming they weren't just odd late comers, they were too well dressed to be ordinary lowlifes. Which meant organization, which meant plans they wouldn't jeopardize just because someone walked past them without paying them any attention. Especially someone of his size and age. Criminals had a horrible habit of thinking lesser of him. Most of the time it was annoying sometimes it was useful.

As he drew closer, he carefully studied the group without looking directly at them. He finally pinpointed what had been bothering him from a distance. Every single one of them was dressed in such a way as to obscure any identifying features. The lower half of their faces were covered by scarves and their coats did a good job covering the exact body types of most. A couple even had an odd uniform sheen to the hair visible under their hats, that might have signified cheap plastic wigs. He'd have to be much closer to be certain.

His suspicion was confirmed. He'd have to make his way back to Father and inform him of the incoming problem. If he was lucky, this would be an excuse to leave the function and the spend the rest of the night as Robin. He was much less likely to be missed than Father after all, and even if Batman insisted on being the one to round this group up, they weren't the hosts. It was one thing to abandon his son to entertain guests when they were at the manor. It was an entirely different thing to leave his son alone at a party hosted by a stranger. It would certainly make the gossip section, if they didn't leave together.

The group wasn't as good at playing non-chalant as he was. They openly watched him as he came closer and began to pass them by. Not that he wasn't watching them just as closely. He just did so from the corners of his eye. That's why he saw it when the closest of the group lunged for him. His response was automatic. The man's hand attempted to grasp at his clothes, while Damian grabbed the arm. He pulled then threw, redirecting the man to go stumbling past him. He felt rather than saw the next one to try and grab him. He jabbed his elbows into some decidedly tender spots to dissuade the attempt.

He turned in time to watch the second man crumple to the ground with a cry of pain. It was thrilling, like always. Taking down a bunch of fools who dared to think they could pose a challenge to him. It brought a smile to his face.

"What the fuck, since when is the Wayne brat some sorta of god damn Karate Kid!" one of the group, the farthest away from him, exclaimed. That brought him sharply down to earth. He had made a mistake. He was not Robin or even Damian Al'Ghul right now. He was Damian Wayne, and as both Father and Grayson had drilled into his head countless times, Damian Wayne could not be seen to be as skilled as he was. To do so could compromise everything. He still needed to escape, but he couldn't continue to throw these thugs around or there would be rumors. That meant he needed to make a run for it, now. If he got back inside quickly, the guards that surrounded Gotham's elite would intervene and this whole incident would be forgotten by morning. Attacks like this were so common they barely warranted a paragraph in the newspaper unless someone like Two Face was involved.

As the next two made their move, Damian dodged right and took off down the path towards the function. At least one of the group followed him. He could hear the crunching of heavy foot falls on the gravel path, eating up the distance between them. He only managed ten feet back the way he came, before he was tackled to the ground. He felt the sharp burn of torn palms as his hands slid roughly across the tiny rocks and a second later the same sensation across his cheek. The air went out of his lungs in a whoosh.

His arms were quickly yanked backwards and pinned. The grip was trained not fumbling. The man was a professional of some sort. It didn't occur to him that Damian Wayne would scream for help, until a piece of cloth was roughly shoved into his mouth.

"Quick, give me the damn drug, before someone comes to investigate." The man above him called back to his compatriots. His voice was low and rough. Definite lower class street accent. It looks like he was being kidnapped by some common Gotham thug. Fantastic, Drake would never let him live this down.

Someone jogged up on the opposite side from where his head was turned. His attempts to adjust so he could see the second man were quickly cut off by a hand in his hair and the sting of sharp rocks in his already cut cheek, as his face was ground into the path. His last thoughts, as the pinch of a needle in the back of his neck sent him into unconsciousness, were of how he was going to make these men pay for injuring him.

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 _ **End Notes:**_

 _ **Next chapter continues from this point. I'll post it sometime early tomorrow after I'm done editing it. Late night editing leads to badly written things.**_


	3. Chapter 3

Damian felt the familiar drowsiness of sedatives, as he climbed back to consciousness. The slight pain from his cheeks and palms didn't even allow him a moment of believing they might have been administrated for benign reasons. If Alfred had been responsible, he would have given him pain killers that would numb such small pains. Keeping his eyes closed and his face slack, he tried to determine his current location and position through sound and feel.

Without moving, he could tell that his arms had been bound behind him. He'd have to shift to make certain, but the pressure felt too flat to be rope, possibly duct tape. He was grateful for his sleeves if it was. Duct tape and skin, over extended periods of time, was unpleasant. His legs felt unsecured, and he was laying on his side on something both cold and slightly rough, most likely concrete.

Somewhere close by, he could hear the sound of a fan. It was large, low to the ground, and not rotating, probably a box fan. There was also the slick sound of cards, but no accompanying laughter or grumbling. He couldn't hear anything as faint as breaths with the fan going, but if he had to guess there was only one man in the room and he was most likely playing solitaire to pass the time. It was a good idea. T.V's were loud and demanded attention. He'd snuck past countless numbers of goons distracted by the things.

He couldn't hear anything else of note. No echo, no dripping, no traffic, nor waves, nothing obvious that would tell him his location.

Carefully, he opened his eyes a slit. Just trying to peer a bit into the room to gather more information without giving himself away. The complete and utter darkness startled him into opening them fully. Nothing, he could see nothing at all. That made no sense. He quickly rubbed the side of his head to the ground, checking for some cloth that he hadn't felt before. No, he wasn't blindfolded, and he didn't have a sack over his head. The room was just completely dark, despite the fact, he could clearly hear the man moving cards around not six feet away. Had he been taken by a metahuman or was it simply a gang themed around night vision? He'd seen sillier motifs in his time as Robin.

"Ah, you're awake, good!" A voice cheered. Damian couldn't help the slight jerk he produced at the sudden sound. The voice was the same as the man from last night, the one who had tackled him. He tried to think back if there had been anything strange about the man's eyes or if he'd seen any specialty equipment. Nothing came to mind. The thud of footsteps heralded the man's approach. Damian felt his arm grabbed, and he was pulled into a sitting position.

The man patted his head. If he hadn't known better he might have thought the man was trying to beat him. He was apparently the type not to know the difference between light pat and full force swat. Not know or not care that is. "Now boy, you're going to help us make a video for your papa," His kidnapper said, "Then we send it to him, he does what we ask, and you can go home." He sounded almost cheerful. Damian couldn't tell if the man was the sort of delusional that would turn violent if things didn't go exactly as planned, or if he merely had been doing this so long that this was just a day job. They were two very different types of dangerous. "Don't be afraid. If you behave and your father does what he's told nothing bad is going to happen. Do you understand?" The kidnapper said. He apparently mistaken Damian's lack of response for fear. Now was the time to test what kind of person he was, before he found out that Father wasn't going to pay and the Batman was going to break all of his bones. Better to find out now, if he needed to rescue himself, than when the man decided he was going to try and send him home in pieces. Emphasis on try.

"How can you make a video if it's so dark?" Damian asked. It wasn't an insubordinate answer, but it wasn't what the man had asked for. It could also give him vital information on what kind of threat he was facing. The man's response to it would determine the sort of danger Damian was in.

Laughter wasn't really what he had expected. "It's not dark boy, you just can't see," the man said, he must have pulled a face because the man continued still amused, "Don't worry, don't worry, it's not permanent." The amusement suddenly dropped, and this time when he spoke he was nothing but serious, "Unless your papa doesn't want to cooperate, then we make it permanent. You don't want that. We don't want that, so be a good boy and everything will be good. You understand?"

"Yes," Damian replied. He knew who had him now. A group had been kidnapping those of means. Holding them for ransom. Using an experimental drug to deprive their victims of their sight, both to protect the kidnappers identifies and to control those kidnapped. The drug was indeed not permanent. From the case file he'd reviewed, all victims but one had fully recovered after being returned. The one that had not, had a family that had been caught trying to work with the police. They'd received one of their daughter's eyes in a box. It was a relief in a way, these were professionals. He'd be rescued long before they felt the need to harm the hostage.

"Good, good, now repeat after me."

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 _ **End Notes:**_

 _ **Originally I was going to stop here. Everyone kind of knows Damian's going to get rescued considering the first chapter, so what's the point. Then I realized that the fact he's blind hasn't really hit Dami this chapter. He's still in how to survive mode, so you get another chapter. Maybe tomorrow, probably the next day. Don't have a lot of time to write today.**_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Huh, what do you know. I did manage to get this out today instead of tomorrow. Amazing how much easier writing is when I actually take my ADD meds. Being able to concentrate is helpful for writing. Who would have thought._**

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The ransom video was short and to the point. If they stuck to same M.O. as in the past, more detailed instructions would be written down and delivered along with the video. What they wanted from him was to tell Father he was unharmed and would remain so as long as the amount requested was paid. He was even made to repeat the line about how his loss of sight was temporary but could be made permanent. His idiot kidnapper probably thought himself clever with that line.

That thought was the fault of his temper. The longer he was awake, and the further he got from the sedatives' sleepy grasp. The more furious he became. He was supposed to be playing scared child. Fearful and helpless at the hands of his captors, but the sheer pointlessness of this whole situation prevented him from playing the character.

He didn't have to be here, blinded by fools-Only fools would kidnap a Wayne, his family had never once paid ransom despite multiple kidnappings. He could have easily beaten these men in the garden earlier. Broken their limbs and handed them bleeding but alive over to the police. He knew he could have. He could replay the fight in his head with the exact steps it would have taken to disable every last one of them, but he wasn't allowed to! He had been forced to break and run. Forced to look for adults far less competent than himself, when there had been no need. All to maintain this useless cover.

Damn Father and his insistence on maintaining a double life. He'd never been required to pretend to be less than he was under Mother. He pulled his knees up, pressing his forehead to them hiding the way he was gritting his teeth, decidedly not cowering in fear. It wouldn't do to make his departure from the norm obvious. He knew why the secret identity was necessary. Too many of Father's assets were legally owned to flaunt the law so blatantly, and the quiet security of the manor could never be maintained if any one of Father's numerous living enemies could merely Google his address. He knew why it existed and he understood, but sometimes, he just hated it anyways. He wanted nothing more than to work his arms out of their bonds and then to beat his captor within an inch of his life. He couldn't do that though. He needed to sit here and wait to be rescued. Pretend to be normal. Just like in the garden.

He seethed in silence. Going round and round in his mind. Coming up with some violent satisfying fantasy, only to remind himself of the reality preventing its implementation, then thinking up a new more creative one. Rinse and repeat, for what felt like forever.

His latest fantasy was interrupted, when someone banged on the door to the room. He hadn't even been aware the room had a door until that point, but judging from the noise it was both wooden and reasonably thick. He heard his captor scoot his chair away from the table. The movement sounded scratchy. Chair was lightweight. The information was most likely useless, but gathering it was both second nature and something to do beyond glaring into the blackness.

He could hear his captor walk across the room to where the knocking had emanated, then paused. Checking a peep hole or a security camera, perhaps? Next, he heard the sound of a deadbolt and a smaller handle lock being undone. That was an interesting combination. It most often seen in residences. The deadbolt would be on top and would not have a keyhole on the outside. The door could only be unlocked from the inside, preventing anyone from picking the lock and breaking into the room. Ideal for sleeping homeowners and rooms with guards already inside.

The door was opened, and Damian was struck by the lack of noise or rushing air. There was a very slight influx of cooler air, but nothing like what could be expected from opening up into a mostly abandoned building or outdoors. This room had to be connected to a larger building that was in use. It was the only reasonable explanation for the parity in temperature, when he knew it was freezing outside. Yet, he hadn't been gagged to prevent neighbors or helpful stranger from hearing him scream for help. He hadn't tried to, but they couldn't have known he wouldn't. They must be certain that no one who would call the cops if they heard anything. That or they were worse idiots than he thought.

"Deliver this, then get out of town. We'll call you when it's time to pick up your share." His captor said to whoever was at the door. There was a rustling of cloth, the sound of something being passed, then the door shutting and the locks being re-engaged. He wished he could see. Something as simple as being able to see what material the ceiling was constructed from, could tell him if this room had been specially built for holding things that required guards or if it was just being re-purposed. He suppressed the urge to stamp the ground and pressed his forehead harder into his knees instead. Where was Father? They must have had him for at least several hours. There had been enough time to transport and secure him here. Plus the time to make the video. Surely, Father must have noticed he was missing by now. He had a tracker sewn into his clothing for this specific situation. It should be child's play for Batman to locate him.

Unless he wasn't looking, a small traitorous part of him whispered. It was a silly thought. Father had long ago accepted him. Bringing him back from the grave proved that. He was no longer the unwanted child. The one Father was looking for an excuse to get rid of. Drake may feel he had just waltzed into the family, but he remembered too well how hard he had to work to cement his place in the family, how much of himself he had to change to gain Father's love, to ever go along with that delusion.

Why was he thinking about this? All these things had happened long ago. He knew better than to dwell on them. It must be the sedatives. Anxiety and depression were known side effects. His mood was the drugs fault. It had nothing to do with him. Unfolding from where he was pressed against his knees, he tried to clear his mind of the dark thoughts. Focus on the here and now, open his eyes and replace the unwanted images and thoughts with the appearance of the room…The room he couldn't see…Because he had been blinded. Open or closed the sight was the same, nothing but darkness. Nothing to distract or take the focus from his thoughts. Nothing to see but images conjured by his mind. Images of the father who hadn't wanted him.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight. He wanted to go home now. He'd wanted to go home since the party, but now, he really wanted to be home. He wanted to be back with Titus and Alfred. He wanted to be drinking Pennyworth's hot cocoa with Father, while Grayson promised to come visit him over the phone. Grayson liked to visit him when he was injured. He never told him, but Grayson fretting around his cot in the cave's medical lab was one of his favorite memories. What he didn't want was to be here, in the dark, with a stranger that couldn't be bothered to do enough research to realize he was never going to see a dime.

This time when someone banged on the door, Damian jumped. He wasn't the only one surprised. There was a third smaller bang, as his captor hit the table with one of his knees at the sound. The man muttered a few curses under his breath and then tromped back across the room to door. There was a second pause, trying to see who was there, then "Shi-" and the sound of the door shattering loose from its locks. The sounds of violence were as familiar as breathing. He could easily pick out the difference between the thump of his captor being thrown against the wall, to the snap of his wrist being broken, to crack of his head being bounced off the concrete floor. Father was here, and contrary to the voice of doubt in his mind, he was not pleased at Damian's kidnapping.

When he heard the zip ties being pulled tight, he knew the fight was over. He wanted to run and hug Father, but one, his arms were still bound behind his back and, two, he couldn't be certain the thug was unconscious. Starting rumors of his familiarity with the Batman would defeat the entire point of not taking the men down himself. He settled for using his legs to push himself up the wall into a standing position instead.

Father's cape whooshed as he turned and crossed the room to Damian. A quick cut with a batarang and his arms were free. He felt a heavy gauntleted hand rest on his shoulder. "Are you injured?" Father asked, he used the familiar growl he always did when wearing the cowl.

"I can't see," Damian replied, he felt the hand on his shoulder tighten, "They said it wasn't permanent." Father didn't move for a moment. He was undoubtedly putting together the facts and coming to the same conclusion as Damian had earlier that night. The file on this group had been put together by him after all.

"Okay, let's get you home." Father said quietly. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around Damian, then lifted him up. Damian wrapped his legs around Batman's waist automatically. He disliked being carried on principle, but he was unaware of the terrain outside the room or even how far away the Batmobile was from their current location. He would make an exception this once, and it had nothing to do with how the action showed the light to the thoughts he had had in the darkness.

* * *

 ** _End Notes:_**

 _ **Bruce took Damian home and Alfred did make him some hot chocolate, while Alfred the cat and Titus cuddled up around their master. Dick did come to visit him, which is why he was around for the doctor's appointment.**_

 _ **And that is how Damian lost his sight.**_


End file.
